


we're melting magnets, babe

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Enemies to Lovers, Found Family, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Chanyeol remembers the shitty studio apartment with chipped paint and faulty plumbing, he remembers no heating in the winters, and he remembers sharing the same futon with Jongin night after night. It’s different now. That was four years ago and he hasn’t visited that part of Seoul in ages. He doesn’t even live with Jongin anymore.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hi there. i haven't posted fic in a bit so i am being brave and actually publishing something and will more than likely regularly update this. i have always wanted to write a model fic and then i saw a picture of chankai and my world spiraled. anyway, i hope you all enjoy and please please leave feedback. lovely thanks to my best gal em for beta'ing.

Chanyeol runs a hand through his hair one last time while Jongin charms the bouncer. Fall has just begun so it’s a tad chilly, his leather jacket pulling taut over his shoulders as he presses his fingers back into his pockets, and his lungs constrict, inhaling the cold air. He bounces on the ball of his feet, excitement running through his veins – they’ve just booked a gig for the fall Tommy collection, well.  _ Almost. _ Their agent called them earlier saying they’re looking for duo models and she put in a word a while back. They’ve mostly approved of their portfolio shots, and they’re supposed to go in on Monday for a test-run – “ _ formalities,” _ Krystal had hummed, part-annoyed part-disinterested, “you know they’re sticklers about first shots. Just smile, don’t run your tongue, and they’ll put you in the catalog.”

She’s nice when she’s punch drunk off cheap merlot, bitching about her doctor ex who left her for the model he was doing a plastic surgery on. Chanyeol had winced and patted her back as she had sobbed into their convenience store ramen, sitting on their ratty old couch, but it definitely broke down the professional walls.

“Hey,” Jongin touches his elbow, jerking his head towards the door. He slides into the club after him, the pumping bass welcoming him, and they beeline towards the bar. Jongin orders them a shot as Chanyeol surveys the crowd.

“Are we pulling together?” Chanyeol asks, accepting the vodka. He tosses it down with a grimace. Jongin smiles as he finishes his own, tongue poking to catch the stray drop at the corner of his lip, “Three is always a party.”

\--

He’s tall. Shorter than Chanyeol, a smidge taller than Jongin. He’s so responsive, and lean, and the way he curves into their touch is more intoxicating than all the alcohol they’ve consumed. Chanyeol kisses the slope of his shoulder, his hand snaking down to the curve of his hip, as Jongin drops to his knees with a thud in the silence of their studio apartment. The boy arches into Chanyeol’s chest and makes sure to pepper wet kisses all the way down his spine, and it’s a throaty moan that makes him lose his mind.

\--

Jongin kisses his collarbones, but the boy pulls him up, bringing his mouth to his lips, and it leaves him a little breathless. A heady feeling, and he’s done this before, but what follows next rocks him out of usual suave confidence. The boy peeks open his eyes, gleaming fond, and whispers, “You’re  _ beautiful _ .”

He’s not like Chanyeol who seeks gratification when exchanging kisses, nor does he enjoy the sing-song praises. He’s used to rough, loud, quick sex, and it’s his forte. He’s not charming in bed cause he filled that quota, but for some goddamn reason he’s following the movement of the lips of the boy under him and pressing with a new sense of urgency. He almost misses Chanyeol coming back with the tube of lube and packet of condoms, his arms unwilling to let go where they’re rubbing circles into the brown-haired boy’s hips.

He slips into the condom, his mind still fuzzy at his own actions, and when he presses in – eliciting a strangled moan – he shivers in harmony with the boy’s short breaths. He regrets not catching his name.

\--

The knocking is persistent enough that Chanyeol drags himself out of the boy’s embrace, his feet cold on the wooden floors, and his skin prickling under the cool draft whisking in from the window they’d cracked earlier. The room had smelled like sex, and it’s always good to air it out. Especially when you find yourself having company at crack ass of dawn on a Sunday.

Treading over to the door in nothing but his thin cotton boxers, he opens it,  slipping out of his sleepy stupor. Rubbing his eyes, he mumbles, “Listen, how many times will we tell you we’re not interested in the pay per-view? I can barely afford this month’s rent.”

Yawning into his fist, he realizes the perpetrator who disturbed his sleep has yet to reply. Blinking his eyes open, he sees a boy around his age – maybe a bit younger – standing with his fingers stuffed into his jean jacket. It has colorful patches everywhere, the type those liberals wear whenever he’s passing by K-arts, and his hair is messily falling into his eyes.

“Uh, I’m looking for someone actually?” he supplies. “Sehun? He’s about yay big –“ he says holding up his hand a little below Chanyeol’s height. Sehun.  _ Oh _ .

“Right,” Chanyeol flushes, his ears sweltering under the heat. The boy smiles, which does nothing to calm the color spreading down his throat over his very exposed chest. He’s got droopy eyes, and chestnut brown hair, and he smiles so  _ sweet _ .

Stepping away, he lets him enter, turning around quickly and leading him to the futon laying on the ground where Sehun and Jongin’s limbs are a tangled mess, their bare skin poorly covered by the midnight-blue sheets that could definitely use a wash after last night’s activities.

He hears the boy stop behind him. “Shit.  _ Shit.” _

Chanyeol winces, and the boy breathes, “Did they?”

“Us,” Chanyeol corrects, and he kinda wants to swallow his own tongue. He shouldn’t have.

“Fuck,” the boy curses, stomping past Chanyeol. He doesn’t sound mad, but his feet hit the ground with strident thuds like he’s trying to make a point. Like he’s letting the whole apartment complex know of his presence. He shakes Sehun lightly, touching his shoulder, and says, “Sehun-ah,  _ wake up _ .”

Blearily the other boy opens his eyes, glancing up at the new face, and his eyes widen in pure horror. “Hyun,” he mumbles, sitting up immediately and it’s like Chanyeol can see last night flashing before his eyes. He can’t help but quell a laugh. The other guy must sense it because he looks over his shoulder to send Chanyeol a death glare. His eyes piercing, and brimming with a protective surge.

Maybe it’s highly inappropriate, maybe it’s completely immoral, but he’s most definitely floored at how beautiful he finds him – especially considering his last night’s conquest, as Jongdae would say, is still in the room.

They leave with Sehun giving Chanyeol and Jongin a bashful smile, the other boy grumbling under his breath about how  _ breakups don’t warrant romping around with strange men _ . Chanyeol was tempted to correct, but the cat’s got his tongue and he’s left gaping at the way the moles spattered on the boy’s face connect to make a line. Up close he’s more than beautiful, he supposes.


	2. i.

The lights are so bright that it almost feels like they’re searing through his skin. He lolls his head back, the cushion under his neck soft. His legs are splayed out over the autumn red sofa as Sulli entwines her smooth legs with his, the expanse of skin starting and ending with the tips of their toes. She’s wearing the new edition of the Coco Chanél they’re posing for. He never understood why they had to physically wear the scent for a pictorial. It’s not like the audience can smell it on them. But he learned to stop asking questions ages ago; it’s part of the deal of having a pretty face — no one wants to look past it. 

 

So they  _ pose _ . Their tangled limbs warm under the copious amounts of floodlights scattered around the room in a manner that would seem haphazard to a bystander — they’re not, they’re actually tactically placed to illuminate their skin and liven the warm set. 

 

There is a thin cremé blanket with a paisley print covering his ass and the curve of his arm is laid out on Sulli’s bare breasts, as if it conceals anything. He’s supposed to act smitten, and that’s a lot of what modeling entails. Acting these personas that draw envy from people, ones that make them lustrous, expensive —  _ unattainable.  _ He’s supposed to be what people want to be, to have, and yet can’t. 

 

The photographer tuts when he stretches his arm too wide, his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval, so he pulls it back and resumes his previous stance, the clicking of the shutter numbing him. He spaces out until he hears hollering of  _ it’s a wrap _ and the overhead light is shut off. He feels a sudden chill run down his spine. 

 

Sulli untangles herself from him as her PA runs over with a shawl and a steaming cup of coffee. She passes Chanyeol a tight smile as the model stands to her full height completely nude. She’s downright stunning. 

 

“Well, that was fast,” she clears her throat. Her cheeks are a trickle of pink, and Chanyeol would be a fool to think  _ maybe _ she’s just shy under his gaze. She’s not. She’s warm, and tired, and happily accepting of the drink being handed to her. 

 

Chanyeol stays lax over the couch, now an arm under his head as he adjusts himself to the freed space, “Say, how come they keep pairing us? Didn’t realize you were such a fan.”

 

She grins, kinda wicked. Kinda bitter. “I should be saying that about  _ you _ seeing as I’m still your senior.”

 

“So, you like younger men is what i’m hearing?” He teases. 

 

It earns him an eye roll, and a light smack to the shoulder, “Charming.” She sounds bored with a hint of fond. They’d slept together when he had just started out at the agency, trotting in with his uncoordinated long limbs, and graceless walk. 

 

She’d said  _ but his face _ and they’d listened. As a treat, she showed him the tricks of the industry — and some behind closed doors, too. 

 

He laughs, loud enough that it echoes off the studio walls. And when he’s left alone, he kind of drifts to a light sleep, only waking up when Jongdae comes over with a robe and a clipboard. He’s nattering on about the rest of his schedule as Chanyeol sleepily rubs his eyes. His limbs ache from restlessness. He hasn’t properly slept in ages since he’s been booked all summer. On top of that he had to fly out for an endorsement last week and was thrown into this perfume’s launch and shoot preps, so he isn’t entirely over his jet lag. Nodding away to the events Jongdae lists, he sighs, a hand running through his hair, and then he looks up. His friend is looking down on him with crinkled eyes, and a soft smile, “How about we get some food in you first?”

 

Chanyeol gives him his best lopsided smile, enjoying the way the fingers press into his scalp, “this is why  _ you’re _ my favorite.”

 

-

 

Jongin picks at the meat on his plate, sulking. They are at one of those street carts with the makeshift tent, tables, and chairs, and Chanyeol is laughing at some story from HR that he’d been telling. The night is calm, passerbys dwindling down to few due to the wee hours of the night. It’s just past midnight and the streetlight that he can see from where he’s sitting has been green for the longest time. His ma used to tell him to never drive after two o’clock at night because nothing good happens. But right now the time between the bad and the day’s end has lapsed into a silent hum. 

 

The only noise filled by the rustling of the slight breeze and Chanyeol’s soft chuckles. These kind of nights are his favorite, when he’s tucked away from the prying eyes of the camera, alone with his friends,  _ happy _ . Right now though, there is something ticking at the forefront of his mind. 

 

“Pay attention to  _ me _ ,” he whines, voice coming out airy. Chanyeol turns to look at him, eyes wide as golf balls, and you can tell he’s a tad drunk by the way his cheeks have a healthy flush. Jongdae rolls his eyes and says, “why the long face,  _ nini _ ?”

 

He’s being a little shit, but Jongin won’t give him the satisfaction. At least he thinks that until Chanyeol adds his own quip, “don’t call him that. He’s Kai, remember? Cool, suave, sexy  _ Kai _ .”

 

“Shut up,” Jongin mutters, taking a sip out of his soju bottle. He scratches at the label, his fingernails peeling the sticker off the plastic, and says, “so they’re having me walk Seoul Fashion Week.”

 

Chanyeol stares at him like he’s grown another head. Useless. So, Jongdae asks, “oh, what a  _ tragedy _ ?”

 

Jongin huffs, “they’re pairing me up with this kid? Like, he was an intern with Louis and got an assistantship over the summer so they're letting him run the spring men’s collection.” 

 

“I think you're being paranoid,” Chanyeol shrugs. “We were rookies, too. Cut the kid some slack.”

 

“Chanyeol, this isn’t some backyard catwalk you set up with your best guys. It’s supposed to be attended by hundreds of professionals, and the catalog is released based off that. If he fucks up with the line then his career is  _ over _ and my reputation is smeared since I’m the damn face.”

 

Jongdae snorts at his dramatics, but he’s the one failing to realize how detrimental this can be. It’s Chanyeol though who earns a swift kick to his shin when he imitates, “Oh  _ no.”  _ Purposely stretching his vowels, and pouting, “I’m  _ Jongin, _ I’m a prodigy, and I have  _ never _ experienced failure, so I’m gonna complain cause a kid is going to ruin everything I  _ have _ .”

 

He yelps with pain when he gets the kick. “Ouch,” he draws his leg up with his knees to his chest, “You’re an annoying shit.”

 

“And you’re a bad  _ friend _ ,” Jongin refutes. 

 

“I think you’re both drunk,” Jongdae chimes in, who is effectively stopped by Chanyeol and him saying  _ shut up _ in unison. 

 

When they’ve exhausted themselves of petty jabs, Chanyeol reaches over to rubs at his wrist, “It’s going to be fine. Besides, he’ll be fired before spring.”

 

“You think so?” Jongin turns their hands over, their fingers intertwined. 

 

Jongdae drops them off at Chanyeol’s apartment since it’s closer, and as he keys the doors in his drunken stupor, Jongin leans into him, breathing down his neck. He presses a soft to his nape, and when the door frees open, he reaches to clasp his hand with Chanyeol’s. He kisses him soft.

 

Chanyeol says, “don’t worry.  _ Nothing _ can ruin the ramps’ prodigy.”

 

Jongin laughs into another kiss. 

 

\--

The office is usually bustling around this season, with the early stages of preparation for the Fashion Week. It slows down around the holidays but from late September to early November it’s like an animal house — the head designer especially running around like a headless chicken, sorting through the initial phases of designs, booking his favorite models, matching the colors to what’s in. That’s natural to him. Familiar. But Monday morning when he walks into the head office, he finds nothing short of calm. The head designer, Luna, is at her desk with long charts splayed out as she colors into the drawn figures, and her assistant Yerim is tacking color patches on the massive cork board running down the wall of her office. 

 

Jongin knocks on her door, the wood resounding under his knuckles, “Morning.”

 

She looks up, smiling. She’s good at that. Always happy, always enthusiastic, even when she’s positively losing her goddamn mind over sequins and glitter and someone forgetting to order a batch of safety pins of all things. She’s the one who creates a comfortable air for all of them, and he’s always had a soft spot for her. 

 

“First week of prep and I saw Jisoo chatting Mino up like it was a regular Tuesday instead of yelling into her intercom. What’s that about?”

 

Luna cackles, taking a healthy sip from her frappe - she doesn’t like coffee unless it’s sweetened with chocolate - and says, “the new head said he’ll confirm deadlines and take care of the orders.”

 

Waving her hand, she directs his attention to the schedule tabbed on the cork board. He walks over to it, reading over the highlighted dates as she carries on, “he said rushing around won’t help anyone so he’s devised a system.”

 

“And it works?” Jongin asks, skeptical. 

 

“So far, yeah,” she notes, and types away on her laptop. “But you know these new kids always want to try something new until it all falls through, and they come to me for pulling the strings together.”

 

“Which you do,” Jongin turns and grins. She returns it equally as bright, “Well, yeah. Someone has to make  _ you _ look good.”

 

He lets out a hearty laugh, sliding into the chair in front of her desk, and reaches over to grab the snow globe. It’s a winter cottage and a snowman tucked behind a thick glass. He loves winter. “You think this one is any good? I was hoping we’d finally get to work with Yunho, but.”

 

“Jongin,” she says it like she’s reprimanding. Like a mother reminding her child to sit up straight at church, or to wash their hands before dinner. The warmth that seeps under the tip of his fingers makes him  _ happy _ . “I know you were looking forward to working with Yunho, but that doesn't mean you can look over young talent. Who knows? He might be better.”

 

He snorts. 

 

Her glare doesn’t go unnoticed, so he pacifies, “Fine. But if he fucks it all up you owe me a drink.”

 

“Hrm,” she hums, shushing him away with a flick of her wrist. 

 

\--

The launch event is at the Intercontinental Seoul COEX, which translates to class. Not everyone is invited, only the highest, most prolific, faces in the industry, and it’s something out of the  _ dreams _ . Chanyeol remembers the shitty studio apartment with chipped paint and faulty plumbing, he remembers no heating in the winters, and he remembers sharing the same futon with Jongin night after night. They’d wait on Krystal to call them about small jobs, backups for some low-budget idol music videos, understudies for other models which basically meant carrying around their tote bags and listening to their every whim. It’s different now. That was four years ago and he hasn’t visited that part of Seoul in ages. He doesn’t even live with Jongin anymore. 

 

The whole event for tonight is orchestrated for the new assistant taking the lead of the Men’s collection runway project, and to pamper Jongin as the face of the brand. It’s all posh and proper. There is a disco ball hanging from the Victorian carvings in the ceiling, and the lights are dimmed to match the mood. The blue flooding with dots of sparkles, courtesy of the disco-like atmosphere. There are baby pink curtains draped along the walls and large bouquets of lilies sitting on top of pale gold platters on each of the tall tables that encircles the floor. 

 

Krystal had pulled him by the elbow towards this couple who are the upcoming trendy photographers and want to have an exhibit in the COEX later on during the month. Chanyeol is unsure what he could input into the conversation, aside from offering his modeling services, but they seem to be more into  _ landscapes _ . The wife had used the word naturalist _ , _ adding an exaggerated wink, and that was his cue to mentally check out of the conversation. 

 

He’s scoping the crowd when his eyes land on something sticking out like a sore thumb. Rather  _ someone _ . The lights are a tad brighter where he’s standing, leaning against the open bar with a drink in his hand. He has round spectacles and black hair falling into his eyes, and that’s not what’s surprising but instead how he’s dressed. Where everyone is fitted into crisp button ups and nicely shaped slacks, he’s donning mom jeans and a light-blue flannels that opens to a graphic t-shirt. The jeans are destroyed around his knees, and  _ jesus, is he wearing converse? _ It’s quite comical, the image of someone so out of place, but Chanyeol can’t help but think he looks good. In his own right. 

 

Excusing himself from the talk of suspicious substance consumption -- it’s not uncommon for people to dabble in hard drugs -- he walks over to the guy. He’s halfway there when a warm hand intercepts him, whisking him around by the elbow, to a friendly face. Jongin’s hair is pushed, save a strand falling over his forehead giving him a mature air, his black shirt tight across his shoulder and slightly see-through, “When did you get here?”

 

Chanyeol looks down at his wrist reading the dial, “It’s been an hour? Maybe, more? I don’t know man, Krystal brought me over to talk to this couple. I’m 90% sure they’re running a meth lab.”   
  


Jongin cackles, his fingers still tucked under Chanyeol’s elbow. It’s grounding, safe. This is where he feels most himself. “Hrm, you think they’ll cut us a share?”

 

Chanyeol widen his eyes, scandalized, “Shut up. You know I can trip on that shit.”

 

“Yes, baby,” Jongin coos, nuzzling his nose into Chanyeol’s shoulder. He’s wearing heeled boots so they're the same height right now. It’s only when he feels a breath ghosting around his ear he realizes what’s happening; his stomach pulling into tight knots. “You wanna prowl together, tonight?”

 

“You make it sound like a sport,” Chanyeol chuckles, lowly. It’s brief. Barely there but he sneaks a glimpse of the glasses wearing boy. Jongin still notices. 

 

“Oh, Chanyeol, we’re slumming it with the nerds today I see?” he teases, handing coming to grip his waist. “You think we can make him scream loud enough to lose his docile disposition.” He says it with such surety. Like he  _ knows _ they’ll bed the stranger. That they won’t go home alone. It makes Chanyeol’s blood hum with excitement.

 

“How do you know he’s --” He doesn’t finishes because just as he looks over to make a point, the guy looks back. He stares right at him, cocking an eyebrow, and the knots in his stomach tighten for some other reason altogether. 

 

Letting go of pretenses, they walk over to the bar, both of them crowding him on each side, as Jongin places an order of shots for both of them. 

 

There are words at the tip of his tongue but they get swallowed as the stranger speaks up, “So, gentleman, can I help you?”

 

Jongin laughs. Not his loud, quacky kind, but his smooth  _ Kai  _ kind. The one he uses to charm his way through modeling contracts, the one that lands him catwalk slots, the one that makes men and women weak in the knees. It’s smooth, and throaty, and enticing. He downs the drink, sidling up to the guy, “You seem rather lonely.”

 

The guy shrugs, sipping on his drink which just seems like watered down beer. Chanyeol crinkles his nose in distaste. 

 

“I’m supposed to bring a friend home after this. This isn’t really my scene,” he supplies — tone disinterested. 

 

“Well,” Jongin starts, “Care to make your evening interesting?”

 

Chanyeol realizes he hasn’t said a single word yet. But there is this nagging sensation that tells him he’s seen this guy before, that he’s felt this way before, although he can’t quite place it. The guy sizes up Jongin as if he isn’t a couple of inches taller, and then he turns to look at Chanyeol. It’d be a lie if he didn’t warm up at the exchange, and then he’s speaking again. “Is this a proposition?”

 

Chanyeol finally adds in, “It can be.”

 

“Huh,” he hums, rubbing at the mist near the lip of the glass he’s holding. “I’m flattered, but I think I’ll pass.”

 

Jongin whines, gravelly. It’s supposed to be endearing, charming, and when the guy smiles Chanyeol thinks  _ maybe _ they have this in the bag, but then. 

 

“Cute,” he mutters, “But as I said, I’m someone’s ride and it’d be awful if I bailed on my date.”

 

Chanyeol slips out of character unintentionally, “Oh, you’re taken?”

 

That must be unexpected cause Jongin looks over the guy’s shoulder confused, and the guy himself has his eyes widen a little until he goes back to the trained expressionless position. 

“Listen, this was fun and all, but I’m sure there are plenty of fish in the sea for strapping young men like you. So why don’t y’all toddle away while I finish the rest of my drink and ignore the rest of this night?”

 

Jongin snorts, pulling away and struts to Chanyeol’s side bringing his arm to loop around his. He mutters, “This isn’t worth it, man.” And before he knows it he’s being dragged away from the elusive stranger. Chanyeol’s regretful he didn’t even catch a name. 

 

The night dies down to the hosts and the close friends, and then Jongin left an hour before the project head arrived because he found a scandinavian model to fuck. Chanyeol excuses himself to the tables tucked towards the arch, decorated with roses, and drowns himself in champagne flute after champagne flutes. They taste like shit even though they sound so  _ pretty _ . 

 

He’s on his fifth one when someone draws him out of his drunken stupor, he’s buzzed at most — thank god for his excellent tolerance. 

 

“You know, pretty boys drinking away all alone at such a huge gathering looks rather depressing,” he’s grinning, no longer the face of disinterest. Alive. Shining, that’s what he is. 

 

Chanyeol blinks up, confused. “I thought you were waiting on a friend?”

 

The guy slides in next to him on the couch, grabbing one of the flutes, “Yeah, but when you’re best friends with the project head you gotta stick it out till the end.”

 

“Oh,” Chanyeol mumbles dumbly.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” the boy repeats, smiling. He downs the drink and grimaces, “Dude, this tastes like shit.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Chanyeol agrees, “Can’t be worse than the piss beer you had earlier though.”

 

“Beer is good,” he sounds offended, but his face tells a whole different story. Chanyeol is so fucking smitten. Or drunk. He can’t be assed to tell which right now. 

 

“Beer is for the  _ poor _ ,” Chanyeol winces at his own words. “Sorry, that was mean.”

 

“Cute,” the stranger mumbles. 

 

Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows, mustering his most intimidating expression, “are you taunting me?”

 

The boy has half a decency to look taken aback, answering, “No, I think you’re  _ cute _ .”

 

“Oh,” he says the second time. Maybe he is drunk. Dear God. 

 

“Oh, indeed,” stranger says cheekily, standing up from his spot and leaning forward. He presses a soft kiss to his cheek, and slides something in his palm, “Next time, talk to me by yourself. Yeah?”


	3. ii.

 

Jongin’s first meeting doesn’t go exactly as planned considering he’d been hungover from the launch party the night before, smudges of makeup on his face and a stale breath to top off his permeating grouchiness. First impressions are supposed to be his best friends, but alas some things don’t pan out as you wish them to. So after an earful of scolding and disappointed glares, he’s left to nurse his headache in Luna’s office with a tepid mug of coffee.

 

“You’re sulking,” she notes, thumbtack in one hand and a swatch of velvet in green in another. She’s standing in front of the cork board with the map of the SFW marked out.  “Sehun is nice. Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”

 

Right. _Sehun_. That’s his name. The cherry on top of it all is that Jongin vaguely remembers sleeping with him a couple of years back, but he’s almost ninety percent sure that the man himself doesn’t. He was too shitfaced to recall all they got up to. _Thankfully._

 

“I made a fool of myself,” he whines, “I walked in right up to him and started nattering on about how I’m not in agreement with the way he’s running things around here.”

 

Luna continues to tack on the pieces of clothes, a red sharpie’s cap wedged in her mouth as she concentrates on writing down the small captions -- they’re supposed to help her sort through the different designs and types of material they'll be picking and choosing. _Who the fuck wears velvet in spring?_ Jongin wonders inwardly. The office is brimming with design pamphlets and drawings and bursts of colors. It’s his favorite time of the year when everything first starts coming together and he gets to watch the process. Being behind the scenes lets him love what he wears, what he endorses, and it’s never selling out on his part because he genuinely enjoys wearing the clothes tailored for him.

 

Yeri comes in with a portfolio, listing off details about the new model they’re thinking of adding to the line when Jongin figures Luna is done pampering him. Sighing, he gets up only to turn and find Sehun present in the doorway, clipboard in hand. He’s wearing a white button-up that’s undone at the collar, and his hair is messily falling in his eyes, and he smiles _easily_ , “I see you’re still out of commission.”  


“I’m fine,” Jongin replies, bitter. “Did you need something?”

 

“Was going to ask Luna to look over the imported fabric we ordered from Japan, but if you’re feeling up for it, you can advise?” he shrugs, nonchalant but it still shakes Jongin a little. He’s been around for years, but his actual input isn’t ever considered. Models are the faces, not the brains, of the lines.

 

Like a fish out of water, he gapes, “Me? You need my help?”

 

“Well, you’re going to be wearing the clothes, shouldn’t you get a say?”

 

“Right,” he follows after into the workshop. It’s empty, which is alamaring because shouldn’t the seamstresses and patch-up crew be there already? The wooden high tables are cluttered with pins, needles, multicolored threads, and boxes of assorted sequins and beads. He runs his fingers along the edge, the wood smooth under his tips, and comes to stop in front of a large crate with rolls of fabrics.

 

Distractedly, he reaches forward to grip at the deep burgundy, the soft material folding between his fingers and contrasting against his own skin. He’s always thought he didn’t fit some colors, because that’s what people think  when they feel inclined to wear colors that flatter their features and stray from those that dull them out. Red is one of those that subdues him to the background, and he begins to meld into ordinary, when all he desires is to stand out amongst the rest.

 

Every fall, when he’s had to walk some designer’s catalog, he forgoes the pretty auburn that reminds him of the turning of leaves or the bright maroons that sing like the warm blood under his veins. He dresses in greys, browns, and blacks. Safe and comfortable.

 

“You like that?” He’s drawn out of his jumbled thoughts as he glances up to find Sehun staring. His arms are crossed over his chest as he holds on to the clipboard, “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Jongin clears his throat. “Joohyun would look good in it.”

 

“Hrm,” Sehun hums, cocking an eyebrow. He looks like he has something to say, but instead he just turns around and reaches for the stack of papers sitting on the wide bench behind him.

 

“So, where is the crew? Shouldn’t they be here?” Jongin tries his hand at conversation. He crouches down to pull apart the package that is marked _patterns_ in big block letters.

 

“They won’t be due until late October,” Sehun replies, his back to Jongin.

 

Pausing, Jongin glances up, “What do you mean? Don’t we need designs and everything ready before upper management sends down an executive?”

 

Sehun waves him off, “That’s not for you to worry about.”  


Something about his blase tone sets him off, his composure shifting to straight up annoyance, “What do you mean it doesn’t affect me? I’m part of the show. Heck, it affects everyone who’s working on this project with you.”

 

“Listen, man, I appreciate the concern, but I know what I am doing,” Sehun leans back on the table, his shoulders slack, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

 

“It quite literally is,” he throws up his hands, annoyed — he’s standing up now. “You were a damn intern until last month.”

 

“You can leave now,” Sehun replies. The room is quiet aside from their tense words, and the silence is only more palpable when Sehun repeats, “ _leave_.”

\--

“How about here?” Chanyeol grins, ducking down and pressing a kiss to her hip bone. Kyuri lets out a breathy moan, chuckling and bringing her fingers to settle in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, “Keep _going_.”

 

She’s an intern. Jongdae’s intern to be specific. During one of his shoots, she’d followed the short man around with her clipboard and a cup of coffee as he blathered away about venue dates, and meetings, and clients. Only to stumble into his dressing room as Jongdae read him his upcoming obligations, she’d been smitten. All eyelash fluttering, slightly stumbling, definitely stuttering. He’s seen people do it before -- oftentimes, it’s a natural reaction, and other times, they want one out of him. If they're lucky he gives in.

 

Chanyeol nips the skin around her hip bones, teasing it between his teeth until it reddens, _sweet_ sounds falling off her lips. Poking his tongue out he laps over the blushing skin, the wetness making it glisten, when she says, “Didn’t think you’d be into leaving—” her words falter as she pulls at his hair, letting out a husky whimper, “marks.”

 

He smiles around the blooming hickey, “I don’t see you complaining.” The sheet slides off his shoulders as he glides down to stamp another one on her thigh, his lips coming to suck on the smooth skin when the door to his room slams open, a shriek and a rough voice following after, “ _Get out_.”

 

Sitting up, Chanyeol turns around to find Jongin standing in his doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and he repeats — eyes fixed on Kyuri — “Did you not hear me? Get out.”

 

Embarrassed, flushing down her completely bare chest, Kyuri gathers her belongings, holding her dress to her chest in a poor attempt to cover herself as she toddles out of the room. Chanyeol can’t help but bark out a laugh. He flops forward with a grunt, and then turns over, the sheets twisting around his waist, “You owe me a fuck.”

 

Jongin bites back, “When will you stop sleeping with the interns? Whose was it this time?” He walks over to the dresser where the half-empty bottle of vodka is sitting and uncaps it. He takes a swig right out of it.

 

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol answers, “what has you upset,  _nini_?”

 

“Shut up,” Jongin replies, another swallow of the alcohol. “That fuckin’ Sehun won’t stop riding my ass.”  


“How so?” Chanyeol entertains, reaching over to his side table to grab his cellphone. He quickly taps out an apology to Kyuri, promising to make it up to her some other time. Jongin climbs over next to him, still cradling the bottle.

 

“He wants me to practice,” Jongin sulks, as if he’s not required to every season, “ _Just_ me. I think he enjoys torturing me.”

 

Chanyeol snorts, amused, “Is that all?”

 

He hears just a mumble, quiet enough to be a whisper, “fucker doesn’t even remember me.”

 

“Ah, so that’s what this is all about.,” Chanyeol replies, rubbing his chin, “Just leftover sexual tension, huh?”

That gets him a punch to the shoulder as he yelps, “Hey! Careful, I bruise like a _peach_.”  


“I wanna get wasted,” Jongin ignores his cries, “Take me out.”

 

“Fine, _fine_ , but you’re going to be my wingman tonight. You already cost me a lay,” Chanyeol gets out of bed, stark naked, and walks over to the chair where he had tossed his jeans. Jongin whistles from behind him, “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be too hard.”

  


They find themselves in the heart of Gangnam, away from their stuffy buildings and posh apartments near the COEX. This side of the town is filled with glitz and glamor, mostly jam-packed with people belonging to the upper class — socialites, celebrities, that come down to blow steam away from the scrutinizing eye of the media and fans. It’s fun to mingle amongst the vibrant lights, the deafening music, the deluging alcohol.

 

It’s Chanyeol’s favorite part of the city.

 

The flooding lights in the club are enough to blind him once they enter, the crowd already roaring to the bumping EDM bass playing in the background as they maneuver their way towards the bar. Jongin orders them drinks while Chanyeol shrugs off his Jacket. He tugs out his cellphone and taps the name _jd_. The line rings twice until someone picks up with a faint static noise in the back.

 

“Hey where are you?” Chanyeol asks, accepting the glass Jongin slides towards him. He downs a gulp, continuing, “We’re already here.”  


“ _I_ _got us a booth. It’s towards the back_ ,” Jongdae says, voice muffled into the speaker, “ _I have someone with me_.”

 

“Ooh,” Chanyeol coos, turning and spotting where all the booths are tucked. He can see Jongdae in his line of vision, “I see you.” He wiggles his eyebrows at him suggestively, at the man sitting next to him, and his friend just rolls his eyes and hangs up on him. He pokes Jongin’s hip, “found ‘em.”

They make their way through the throng of people towards the leather-worn booths and slide opposite to Jongdae and his company. Chanyeol grins, offering his hand, “Why hello there, I don’t think I’ve seen you before?” He’s got a strong jaw and a small nose. One of those faces you’d find in Nature Republic Ads for smooth skin and whatnot. “I’m Chanyeol.”

 

He nods, shaking his hand, “Junmyeon. You can call me Jun.”

 

Chanyeol rubs his thumb over the back of his hand, and says, “Where has Jongdae kept you hidden?” That earns him a smack to their joined hands and he pulls back with a scowl and soft cry, “What the hell, man?”

 

“Stop flirting with  _my_ date,” Jongdae chides, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“You guys are assholes,” Chanyeol pouts, not missing the way Junmyeon pinks up under Jongdae’s attention. “First negative nancy here and now you.” He jerks his head at Jongin, who’s sulking into his drink yet again.

 

“You still crying over Sehun?” Jongdae asks, and surprisingly, it’s Junmyeon that replies, “My Sehun?”

 

The ‘ _my_ ’ perks up Jongin’s interest as Chanyeol watches him pick up his head, eyes narrowed into slits as if he’s suspicious of Jun’s intentions, “Wait, how do you know each other?”  


“College roommates,” he replies, shrugging. “Well, and best friends.”  


“Tell your  _bff_ ,” Jongin exaggerates with as much bitterness he can muster, “to leave me the fuck alone.”

 

“Why don’t you say it yourself?” another voice chimes in, and Chanyeol and Jongin turn to face two more guys standing at the end of their booth. Sehun is the tall brunette, Chanyeol wagers, holding a colorful drink. But it’s not him that has him shocked like a deer caught in headlights — it’s the boy. The round glasses, flannel wearing, boy.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jongin grunts, sliding out of his chair and stomping out into the crowd. Chanyeol barely registers Sehun snickering, “I should apologize,” following after Jongin.

 

When he was younger, barely grown into his long limbs, and his freshly discovered puberty, his neighbour Changwook would make fun of him for watching way too many romantic flicks. He’d tell him he shouldn’t waste his time cause no girl in her right mind would go for his round cheeks, and wide eyes, but Chanyeol didn’t care cause you know that _one_ moment. When you see _that_ person where time stands still and you’re kinda short on breath made all the cheesy plotlines that much sweeter. He loved it.

 

“Hi,” he croaks out, palms already sweaty. He runs them down the material of his jeans, and blinks.

 

“Hello,” the boy sing-songs, “we have got to stop meeting like this.”

 

Jongdae clears his throat, “Err. You know each other?” Chanyeol can’t even form a reply and the guy is replying, “Not quite. I did give him my number and never got a call.”  


Chanyeol flushes at the bold accusation, picking at the coaster on the table, “I was —”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Jongdae snorts, he turns to Jun and slips his hand around his wrist, “how about we dance?”

 

Jun, however, looks a tad apprehensive about the whole exchange. He’s guided out of the booth, and just before he leaves, he stops by the boy and whispers something to him, receiving a warm smile in return, and is soon whisked away to the dance floor.

 

“So,” the boy slips in where Jongdae was seated, “I’m Baekhyun.”

 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol replies, dumbly. Kicking himself inwardly, he replies, “I mean, I knew… I read your card.”

“And you?”  


“Chanyeol,” he’d offer his hand, but they’re so damp that wouldn’t do him any good. He’s so off his game it’s quite sickening. “Sorry, I should’ve, I’m just not —”

 

“Looking for a relationship?” Baekhyun supplies.

 

“Yeah, usually when someone gives you their number they want more than your given one night stand,” Chanyeol explains. Quickly realizing what he’s implying, he tries to rectify, “Not that I want to proposition you.”

 

Baekhyun cocks his head to the side, his hair flopping with him, “You don’t?”  


“I mean--” He stutters, and it’s enough to elicit a hearty laugh out of the other. It’s loud enough to be heard clearly, even over the pounding music. His mouth turns up and his lips stretch into a square of sorts. It’s cute.

 

Waving him off, Baekhyun leans back into his seat, “Don’t worry. I wasn’t either. You just looked like you needed a good friend.”  


“I do have friends,” Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Ones you haven’t fucked?” Baekhyun’s words have a challenging tone to them. He’s sitting there in a pricey club with his worn in flannels and metal frames and cheap bear, yet is the picture of confidence. It’s unnerving how he doesn’t feel like making himself smaller to accommodate for the rest of them.

 

“Well, Jongdae?” Chanyeol offers, laughing. “But he’d kill me if I tried to make a move on him. Pretty sure I thought he was straight until, well, right now actually.”  


“Yeah,” Baekhyun joins in, “he doesn’t seem the type. But he’s quite taken to Jun and works in fashion _so_.”

 

“Are you saying men can’t be straight if they’re in our industry?”

 

Baekhyun shrugs, “You guys are so polished. Beautiful. It’d be hard to.”

 

“That’s a stereotype,” Chanyeol argues.

 

“So, you’re _not_?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Chanyeol grins, catching on. “I play the field equally. No discrimination.”  


“Charming,” Baekhyun drags out and it’s similar to Sulli’s lazy vowels. He wonders if Baekhyun is from outside of Seoul too. Maybe up north or something. He can catch a hint of underlying dialect under his seoulite speech.

 

Chanyeol kind of forgets entirely that he’d meant to steal away someone else’s attention for the night, bring them back to his place, and you know the rest. The conversation between them keeps flowing, smooth as the River Han that is in full burst during the spring, and the drinks are left half-drunk as they recount their night around Seoul, their overlapping social circles, and terrible terrible taste in pizza toppings.

 

Baekhyun talks so vividly, like. He’s telling stories with so much fervor and so much color, it’s hard to not just imagine each and every scene perfectly behind your closed eyes. There is another thing, though. The broadness of his shoulders, the slope of his nose, the way his skin gleams under the bright club lights, and the way his laugh sounds mellifluous amongst blurred out EDM tunes.

 

The night draws to a close when the older boy — he learns they both were born in the year of the monkey and Baekhyun is a couple months older — gets up to leave. He shrugs on his leather jacket that fits snugly over his shoulders, and starts walking towards the door, Chanyeol following right after. There isn’t a proposition, nor some silent agreement, but he finds it fitting to be standing outside in the crisp air with hands tucked under his armpits as Baekhyun hails down a cab.

 

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Baekhyun says. Outside the dim lights, Chanyeol can properly gauge the difference in their heights, and how the older boy has to look up to talk to him. “I’m not big into the party scene, but Sehun and Jun wanted me to join them so.”

 

“I’m glad, then,” Chanyeol offers with a smile. He bites down on lower lip, nervous, “Maybe, we can do this another time?”

 

“Talking?” Baekhyun arches a brow.

 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol replies, a little breathless on the budding exhilaration. “ _Just_ talking.”

 

Just then a cab pulls up to their side and Baekhyun reaches to open the door. The streets are still empty seeing as the night has barely begun, but Baekhyun has some deadline to meet for work because of which he needs to head out. Realizing he never even asked, Chanyeol reaches forward and grabs Baekhyun’s elbow, “Wait, I never asked. What do you do?”

 

The other boy lets out an unabashed laugh, his ears pink from the nipping cold, and says, “Did you even read the card?”

 

He slips into the cab, and the driver speeds down the road. Once again, Chanyeol is left alone wondering if the whole night was a sham, and he’d just conjured it. Then he remembers the card tucked in his wallet and reaches into his back pocket, pulling it out to read.

 

_Byun Baekhyun_

_NCsoft — Gameplay Designer_

_xxx-xxx-0212_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments & kudos.


End file.
